


red lip classic (thing that you like)

by daysanddaysanddays



Series: body writing 'verse [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Body Writing, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Humiliation, Lipstick, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 02:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11118465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daysanddaysanddays/pseuds/daysanddaysanddays
Summary: Patrick notices the tube of bright red lipstick as soon as Pete takes it out of the CVS bag.





	red lip classic (thing that you like)

**Author's Note:**

> beta'ed by the wonderful [peatreck](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peatreck/pseuds/peatreck)! any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> from the same verse as my last body writing fic, but can 100% be read as a standalone!
> 
> title from "style" by taylor swift. i'm so sorry taylor you deserve better than this

Patrick notices the tube of bright red lipstick as soon as Pete takes it out of the CVS bag. He's nonchalant about it, but it's clear that Patrick's supposed to notice it, so he rolls his eyes and says, “No, Pete. I already told you I’m not gonna crossdress.”

Pete pouts dramatically. “But it would be so hot!” he protests, a repeat of earlier arguments.

“Maybe,” Patrick says. “But it’s not happening.”

Pete looks like he’s going to continue arguing, but he stops himself. “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing this isn’t for crossdressing,” he says, a hint of a secretive smile on his face.

Patrick feels his brow furrow. “What’s it for, then?” he asks, almost certain Pete won’t tell him. But hey, it’s worth a shot.

He was right. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” Pete says, smirking.

~~~

The lipstick doesn’t come up again for another week and a half, almost long enough for Patrick to completely forget about it. They’re making out on the couch, some long-forgotten reality show playing on the TV in the background, when Pete pulls back. 

He stares at Patrick for a few seconds, and then says, “Color?”

Patrick smiles. “Green.”

Pete smiles in response. “Go to the bedroom and strip,” he says. “I’ll be right there.” 

Patrick nods, his body already shaking with anticipation as he slips away. 

He doesn’t have to wait long after he finishes stripping before Pete walks into the room, fully dressed and carrying the lipstick. Patrick wants to ask, again -- maybe Pete would tell him now that whatever it is is about to happen -- but he doesn’t dare. The scene started as soon as Patrick left their living room, and that means he doesn’t have permission to talk yet.

“Sit down on the edge of the bed,” Pete says, and Patrick complies without hesitation.

Pete walks toward him, his eyes raking over Patrick’s body in appraisal. Patrick can already feel himself beginning to flush, and Pete hasn’t even done anything yet. He uncaps the red lipstick --  _ whore red _ , Patrick thinks -- then places one of his hands on Patrick’s chin, holding his head completely still.

Patrick lets out a questioning noise, and Pete shushes him. “Purse your lips,” he says.

“Pete,” Patrick starts, unsure, only to feel Pete’s hand tighten on his face. His nails dig into Patrick’s jaw slightly in warning.

“Did I say you could talk, bitch?” he asks, voice harsh.

Patrick shakes his head as much as he can in Pete’s grip, feeling shame crawl through his body. He hates disappointing Pete during scenes.

“If you’re not safewording out, then there’s no reason for you to speak. Understood?”

Once again, Patrick nods as much as he can with Pete’s hand gripping his chin. He feels silly, a little bit, for being so nervous over a tube of lipstick. Patrick would trust Pete with his life; no matter what this ends up being, it’s nothing compared to that. And if it does end up being something he’s uncomfortable with, it’s like Pete said -- all he’d have to do is say his safeword, and Pete would stop. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself.

“Good,” Pete says, satisfied. “So am I going to get to do what I want with my fucktoy now?”

There’s no way Pete misses the way his words make Patrick’s dick twitch, make his entire body shudder, but Patrick nods his head against Pete’s controlling hand on his jaw in a futile attempt to distract away from it. His skin feels hot all over.  _ Pete’s _ . He loves being Pete’s.

“Then purse your lips,” Pete says, and this time, Patrick complies after only a second’s hesitation. 

Patrick’s never worn lipstick before, so he’s not sure what to expect when Pete starts applying it, but whatever he expected is nothing like the actual feeling. It’s stickier than he thought it would be; heavier, too. He can’t forget for a second that he’s wearing it. 

Once Pete’s satisfied with the state of Patrick’s lips, he tells Patrick to rub them together to spread the lipstick. Patrick obeys, even though he’s unsure of how to do so and embarrassed because he knows it probably shows.

“Good boy,” Pete says when Patrick finishes, pleased, and the praise settles something in Patrick’s chest that had constricted when he realized he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Now close your eyes, and don’t move your head,” Pete says, and Patrick’s eyes flutter shut without any protest. Patrick probably should’ve expected it, but it’s still a shock when he feels the tip of the lipstick touch his forehead, Pete’s other hand pushing Patrick’s bangs back. Pete’s movements are all careful, intentional, but it only takes him about a minute before he withdraws and caps the lipstick. 

Patrick is pretty sure he knows what Pete wrote, and he’s so turned on he feels like he’s going to implode. 

“You can open your eyes now,” Pete says, and Patrick does, slowly, and is met immediately with Pete’s considering, detached gaze, like Patrick is an object for him to examine, and it’s fucked up that that gets Patrick as hot as it does. He feels so humiliated he could die, sitting there naked and clearly hard with Pete’s handwriting across his forehead in lipstick, while Pete’s standing above him fully clothed, looking to all the world like the scene has no effect on him.

“Open your mouth,” he says, and Patrick does, the lipstick making the action feel stiffer than usual. 

“Perfect,” Pete says, taking his phone out of his back pocket. Patrick knows what’s coming, but knowing doesn’t prevent the surge of humiliation that runs through him as Pete backs up, takes a few steps to one side and then the other, clearly trying to find the best angle. He looks down at his phone briefly before settling his calculating gaze on Patrick.

“Tilt your head up,” he says after a second, and Patrick obeys.

“Good,” Pete says, then, with a note of warning in his voice, “Stay still and look at me.”

Hearing the camera’s shutter sound sends chills throughout Patrick’s entire body. He knows that Pete usually leaves his phone on silent -- Patrick’s spent days with him where all Pete does is take photos, and his phone never makes a sound. So that means -- it means that Pete turned on the sound specifically for this, so Patrick would know without a doubt that Pete took the photo, would know the exact moment it happened. And it shouldn’t make that much of a difference, because it’s not like Pete’s phone being on silent would allow Patrick to forget that Pete’s photographing him, but knowing that Pete turned the sound on for the sole purpose of getting to Patrick… 

He’s suddenly hyperaware of his body, of the position he’s in and of the fact that he posed obediently for Pete and has stayed in position despite there being nothing constraining him or forcing him to do so. Anyone who saw this photo would know, without a doubt, that Patrick wanted this, that he could’ve stopped this but he didn’t. That he just sat there exactly the way Pete asked because he wanted to, because he loves it, loves the degradation and loves, especially, being something Pete can manipulate in any way he wants. Something Pete  _ owns _ .

He’s pulled out of his reverie by the sound of the camera going off again and Patrick knows, he just knows, that his eyes must look glazed over in this photo, can feel it in how abruptly the shutter sound brought him back to reality. He can imagine it, how --  _ depraved _ he probably looks, how desperate, and it hits him right in the chest. Patrick has to consciously stop himself from moving out of position as he watches Pete smirk at his screen in satisfaction, not even sure if he’s stopping himself from reaching toward Pete or from covering himself in shame.

He hears Pete humming in approval as he looks over the photo he’s just taken, and Patrick feels himself getting even redder than he already was. It’s nothing, though, compared to the heat he feels in his cheeks when Pete approaches Patrick, turning the phone around so Patrick can see himself.

He can’t help his shaky breath upon seeing the photo. In the past he’s never understood when people have made comments about his mouth, but he thinks he might get it, now. The bright red lipstick is hypervisible against his pale skin, accenting his open mouth. It’s pretty in a way he normally doesn’t associate with himself -- or, it would be if the color weren’t so lurid, the wide stretch of his lips so suggestive.

The lipstick would’ve been enough, really, to show what Patrick is, but the WHORE that stretches across his forehead leaves no room for doubt.

Patrick can’t stop looking at it, at the way his forehead is covered in the garish red lipstick. It’s somehow filthier because of the messiness of Pete’s handwriting, the carelessness with which Patrick has been labeled. It hits him harder than writing usually does, feels even more humiliating than the same thing in black marker would’ve been. 

If anyone saw him right now, there wouldn’t be any way for him to hide it, to hide what he is for Pete. And Patrick knows no one else is going to see them -- they’re in the privacy of their own home, and the blinds are down over the windows besides -- but just the idea of what would happen if they did… He can feel some precum leaking from his cock at the very thought.

He’s brought back to reality when Pete places a hand on Patrick’s shoulder and presses down. Patrick acquiesces to the silent demand and slides off the bed and onto his knees, mouth still open because Pete hasn’t told him to close it.

Pete unzips his jeans, shoving them down just far enough that he can free his hard cock, then reaches a hand toward Patrick’s mouth, cupping his chin and pressing down gently on Patrick’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Look at the perfect cocksucking lips on you,” he says. “So pretty with that bright red lipstick.”

Patrick keeps looking up at Pete, his heartbeat speeding up under Pete’s scrutiny. “Just another cockhungry whore, huh? Painting your face to look good for any man who wants you?” Patrick can’t respond beyond the quickening of his breath, the hint of a moan in his exhale. His can feel his mouth going dry.

“A mouth like that -- it’s just begging for someone to fuck it,” Pete continues, lifting his thumb away from Patrick’s bottom lip and instead stroking it possessively over Patrick’s jaw. “Do you want me to fuck your mouth, whore? Answer me.”

“Please,” Patrick responds, breathless and eager.

Pete eyes him, considering. His finger continues to stroke up and down Patrick’s jaw, sending chills through Patrick’s body. “And why should I give you my cock, hmm? What makes you think you deserve it?”

“I’ll be so good, please, fuck, I promise I’ll make it worth it, I promise, please fuck my face, Pete, please.” Patrick knows he sounds needy, but he can’t help it -- it’s been so long since they last did this and he wants it so badly. He wants to lean forward, get his mouth on Pete’s dick already, but he knows he can’t, so he curls his hands into fists to try and control himself against the hum of arousal and pure want coursing through him.

Pete snorts, an amused quirk to his lips. “Man, you're desperate even for a whore,” he says, and Patrick feels like his entire body has been electrocuted by the spark of lust and humiliation that Pete’s words send through him. He lets out an involuntary whine, only realizing he’s done so when Pete’s amused smile shifts into a smirk.

“I guess I can give you my cock if you really need it that much,” Pete says with a put upon tone, as if it’s a chore to let Patrick suck him off. Patrick would roll his eyes if he weren’t almost literally panting for it. Vaguely, he hears himself make a pleased sound as Pete cups the back of Patrick’s head in one of his hands and starts to guide him toward his dick.

Pete starts relatively slowly, pushing Patrick’s head down his cock at a pace that allows Patrick to open up his throat and adjust. This is something they can’t do that often, what with Patrick’s career relying almost entirely on well-being of his voice, but Patrick loves it all the more for its rarity, loves the surrender in just letting Pete use his throat to get himself off.

As soon as Pete’s certain that Patrick’s adjusted to his cock, he stops going slow. Framing Patrick’s face with both hands to keep it still, he pushes into Patrick’s mouth roughly, increasing speed with each thrust. Patrick keeps his eyes locked on Pete’s face even as his eyes start to water, knowing that Pete likes that best, and takes it, relaxing his throat as much as he can. 

Pete takes his time; despite his quick thrusts, it’s clear he’s in no hurry to get off. They’re off tour with no studio time planned for the next couple of weeks, which means Pete can go as long and hard as he wants. Patrick’s missed it, missed the ache in his jaw that comes from having Pete’s dick in his mouth for extended periods of time, missed the way his voice isn’t quite right for a day or two afterwards if Pete’s been especially rough.

“Look at you,” Pete grunts out, and Patrick can only just hear it over the wet sounds he’s making every time Pete thrusts in. He can feel the combination of his drool and Pete’s precum dripping down his chin, and it makes him feel filthy. “You were just born to take cock, weren’t you?”

Patrick groans in agreement around Pete’s cock as Pete moves one of his hands to the back of Patrick’s head, pressing Patrick all the way down on his dick, choking him and not letting him come up for air. Patrick just concentrates on breathing through his nose, ignoring the tears that leak out of his eyes in response. After around ten seconds, Pete releases his grip on Patrick’s head, letting Patrick catch his breath briefly before thrusting back in and holding him down once more. 

“Good boy,” Pete grunts out, watching intently as Patrick’s lungs start to tighten. The praise only makes Patrick determined to do better.

Pete only lasts a few minutes after that. Patrick can feel it when Pete’s close, so he isn’t surprised when Pete holds his head down one last time and cums down his throat. He manages to swallow most of Pete’s cum, only a few drops spilling out of his mouth when Pete pulls out. 

It’s only after Patrick’s taken a few moments to cough and get his breath back that he notices the lipstick marks near the base of Pete’s dick.  _ He _ left those there, and it’s hot in a different way than their play usually is. Patrick’s used to feeling possessed, but looking at the marks on Pete’s dick, his mouth still filled with the taste of Pete’s cum, makes him feel possessive for once. Sure, he’s Pete’s -- he remembers that near 24/7 -- but it’s a heady feeling to remember that Pete’s his, too, even if it’s not as apparent at first glance.

Catching sight of the marks he’d left had distracted him from the scene for a moment, but it only takes a light slap across the face for Patrick to come back to the present. “Up,” Pete says, gazing down at Patrick, unimpressed. Patrick stands slowly, his legs unsteady from kneeling for the past while. He’s relieved when Pete places one of his hands on the small of Patrick’s back, the gentle pressure making movement easier.

“Bathroom,” Pete says, and Patrick nods to show he heard. It’s not far -- they have a bathroom attached to their room, so it only takes the few moments necessary to cross the bedroom. Almost immediately after they enter the room, Pete crowds into Patrick’s space, making it impossible for Patrick to do anything but fold himself over the sink, holding himself up on his elbows. When he looks straight ahead, he’s staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

And, the thing is, Patrick’s already seen what he looks like, but he can’t help the shivers that run through him as he takes in his reflection. He looks different now, just slightly; his lips a little more swollen, a tear track or two from when Pete choked him on his dick, his chin shiny from the drool, the lipstick on his mouth smudged enough that it’s clear something happened. He looks like someone who just got his face fucked. He looks… well, it’s like the lipstick says. He looks like a whore.

He meets Pete’s eyes in the mirror, and Pete is smirking at him, clearly knowing the path of Patrick’s thoughts. “My pretty little whore,” he says, and Patrick has to bite back a groan, dropping his head so that he’s looking down instead of straight ahead. 

“You were so good for me, Patrick,” he says. “I think you deserve a reward for taking my cock so well. Tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you if I can give it to you.”

Patrick is so turned on that it takes a moment for Pete’s words to resonate, but once they do, he brings his head back up and meets Pete’s eyes in the mirror, can’t find it in himself to control the rush of words that come out of his mouth. His voice is rough, scratchy, and it hurts a little to talk. “Anything, Pete, please, I just. I  _ need _ , please, fuck, please--”

He’s cut off by Pete gently shushing him. “What do you need, Patrick?”

This time, Patrick doesn’t bother to suppress his groan. “You, please, Pete, I need you inside me, I need you so bad, please, I’ll take anything you want to give me just touch me  _ please _ .” 

Pete nods, thoughtful, before reaching around Patrick into a drawer beneath the sink and pulling out some lube.

“So. Here’s what’s going to happen,” Pete says, snapping open the bottle of lube and pouring some onto his fingers, Patrick tracking the movements in the mirror. “I’m going to fuck your ass with my fingers, and you’re not going to take your eyes off your reflection. If I see that you’ve stopped looking at yourself at any point, you won’t be allowed to come.”

As a threat, it definitely works. Patrick’s been aching for release for what seems like days now, even though he knows the scene can’t have been going on more than forty five minutes, tops. 

“Do you understand?” Pete asks, then adds, “You can speak.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Patrick says, getting the words out as quickly as possible. 

“Good,” Pete says. He brings one of his fingers up to Patrick’s hole, then says, “Remember, don’t take your eyes off yourself, and don’t you dare come before I say you can.” He presses in before Patrick can respond.

It’s so far from enough that Patrick wants to cry. He still feels so empty and it’s almost more pronounced now that Pete’s given him a little bit. Patrick pushes his ass back toward Pete, whining, wanting to ask for more verbally but knowing he can’t.

Pete chuckles a little. “You’re so greedy,” he says, but his voice is fond. Pete only uses one finger for a few moments, adding a second one in without skipping a beat. He’s starting to establish a rhythm, pushing in and out with enough force that Patrick is pushed slightly forward with every thrust, toward the mirror and his reflection.

It’s still not enough, but it’s better than just the one, especially when Pete starts to crook his fingers inside Patrick, looking for his prostate. It doesn’t take long for him to find it, and as soon as Pete’s fingers stroke against it, Patrick lets out a deep, guttural moan, watching as his mouth opens wide in the mirror, his chest beginning to flush more noticeably. He feels his cheeks heat up more as he takes in his reflection, the redness growing darker. He thinks that maybe this should make the lipstick across his forehead stick out less, but it doesn’t; somehow it just makes the WHORE more evident. 

He just looks slutty, slutty and desperate, and if this is what he looks like with only Pete’s fingers, Patrick doesn’t know if he wants to think about what he looks like when Pete’s fucking him for real. He’s seen pictures, of course -- even a video once or twice -- but it’s different, seeing it happen in real time.

“So pretty,” Pete says, meeting Patrick’s eyes in the mirror as he pushes his fingers up against Patrick’s prostate again. “Such a pretty whore for me.”

Patrick can’t do anything but whine in response, still needing more. Thankfully, it’s only a few moments until Pete finally,  _ finally _ , slides a third finger in, the stretch of it burning in just the right way. It’s not as good as Pete’s cock, but it’s close, and Patrick is determined to make the most of it.

Patrick barely recognizes himself in the mirror, sweaty and redfaced, panting heavily through smeared red lips. Pete’s sloppy handwriting, marking him as a whore. A fresh wave of humiliation runs through him and he wants to close his eyes, wants to focus on the feeling of Pete’s fingers without having to look at his own wanton, fucked out features. He can’t, though, not if he wants to come, and Patrick doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to come more than he does right now.

Pete only allows Patrick a moment to adjust to the third finger before he starts fucking him in earnest, moving his fingers in and out of Patrick as hard as he can. Patrick’s so focused on making sure he watches his own reflection that it comes as a shock when Pete leans forward to bite the junction between his neck and shoulder, sucking hard.

Patrick can’t help the keening noise he makes right in Pete’s ear, high and almost pained. He wants to come, he needs to come,  _ why won’t Pete let him come?  _

When Pete finally releases the skin he’d been sucking at, he pulls back slightly, and it’s only a few seconds later that Patrick hears the unmistakable sound of Pete jacking himself off. It makes the rhythm of Pete’s fingers inside him stagnate a little bit and he whines, wanting the stimulation again. 

Pete pauses briefly to slap Patrick’s hip and say, “Quiet, slut.” Pete’s grunting now in the way he always does when he’s close, so Patrick’s unsurprised when he feels Pete’s cum hit his back. He hadn’t thought it was possible for him to feel much filthier, but the sensation of Pete’s cum dripping down his back is doing it.

Pete resumes fucking his fingers into Patrick after he finishes cumming, and it’s only a few moments until he leans forward and says directly into Patrick’s ear, “You wanna come, Patrick? Hmm?”

“Yesssss,” Patrick says, the word getting drawn out so that it seems to have five or six syllables instead of just the one. 

Pete slows the pace of his fingers down. “I don’t know. I can’t tell if you want it enough,” he says, thoughtful, and Patrick could honestly cry. 

“Please,” he begs, a little shocked by how obvious his desperation is in his reflection.  “Please let me come, I need it, fuck, Pete, I need it so bad. Please, fuck, please, I need to come, please let me come,  _ please _ .”

Pete pauses, considering, before he leans forward once more, his lips brushing against Patrick’s ear. “Come now, whore,” he says, dragging his fingers down Patrick’s prostate at the same moment, and that’s it, Patrick’s done for. He doesn’t make a sound when he comes, his mouth open but silent except for a few strangled breaths. It’s one of the most intense orgasms he’s had in a while.

His elbows collapse as he comes down, and Patrick leans most of his weight against the sink, feeling suddenly like deadweight. Pete has him, though -- he must’ve taken his fingers out of Patrick’s ass sometime while Patrick was coming, because all of sudden he feels a damp towel on his back, ostensibly wiping off Pete’s cum. When he’s done, Patrick feels both of Pete’s arms encircle him from behind, feels Pete press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Hey, Patrick,” Pete says, voice soft. Patrick somehow finds the energy to lift his head and meet Pete’s eyes in the mirror. “Do you think you can make it to the bed?”

Patrick’s… not sure, actually; his legs have started to shake and he’s still not really all there. He considers for a second, then says, “If you help me?” relieved when Pete nods. His voice is scratchy, and it hurts a little to talk. If he hadn’t just come, he thinks that just that reminder of Pete fucking his throat would be enough to get him hard again.

Patrick uses his last bit of strength to push himself off the sink, falling toward Pete, who catches him easily. 

“I got you,” Pete says, kissing Patrick’s temple briefly as he adjusts his stance to best carry Patrick’s weight. 

They make it to their bed with little incident, and Patrick gratefully sprawls out on top of the covers. Pete smiles at him, giving him a quick kiss and heading back into the bathroom. Patrick closes his eyes, and he’s already on the brink of sleep by the time Pete comes back with another damp towel and a tissue box.

He snorts upon spotting Patrick. “I wasn’t even gone for two minutes,” Pete says with a smile, and Patrick sticks his tongue out at Pete as he wipes cum off of Patrick’s stomach. After he’s finished, he pulls the top two tissues out of the box.

“Look at me?” Pete says, and Patrick does, lolling his head in Pete’s direction. He holds his head still as Pete begins rubbing the lipstick off with tissues as gently as he can. Patrick doesn’t close his eyes, afraid that if he does he’ll fall asleep, and instead watches Pete’s focused expression as he methodically wipes first at Patrick’s lips, then his forehead. Patrick doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he got lucky enough to have a partner who cares about him this much. Being on the receiving end of Pete’s full attention like this just makes Patrick love him more.

It takes a little more than ten minutes before Pete is satisfied once more with the state of Patrick’s face, by which point Patrick has mostly come back to himself. Pete picks up the dirty tissues from the night table next to the bed with one hand, and the damp towel with the other. 

“Do you want some water?” he asks, and Patrick nods around a yawn. Pete smiles at him again and quickly kisses the top of Patrick’s nose, maneuvering away before Patrick manages to lift his hand in an effort to swat Pete for it. 

When Pete returns, he’s carrying a pair of Patrick’s boxers in addition to the glass of water, and Patrick can’t help but smile as Pete tosses them to him. 

Pete helps Patrick sit up against the headboard so that he can drink the water -- and, after he’s drained the glass, get into his boxers -- with minimal effort. Pete takes the empty water glass from Patrick’s hand and places it on the nightstand before stripping down himself and lifting up the covers so that they can burrow under them together.

“You were brilliant, Patrick,” Pete murmurs quietly, and Patrick can’t stop himself from smiling, just a little bit. “I love you so damn much.”

A warm feeling settles in Patrick’s chest as he snuggles closer to Pete, his head near Pete’s chest. “I really liked that,” he says, leaning his head up to look at Pete as he says it.

“I’m glad,” Pete says, pushing back some pieces of hair that have fallen over Patrick’s eyes. Patrick nudges his head into Pete’s hand, wanting more, and Pete complies, stroking his hand through Patrick’s hair.

“Lipstick’s weird though,” he adds after a few seconds. “I don’t know how people wear it all the time.”

Pete laughs and kisses Patrick’s forehead. “Good thing that we only have it for special occasions,” he says with a smile, and Patrick lets his eyes slide shut as he makes a contented noise in response. Special occasions, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> help me repent for doing taylor swift so dirty by leaving kudos and/or comments about what you liked/didn't like/wanted to see more of! i'm still very new to this so any and all feedback is appreciated <3


End file.
